


auburn & ivory

by d_v_whelan



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon - Book & Movie Combination, F/M, Mutual Pining, Mutually Unrequited, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Canon Compliant, Prophetic Dreams, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-02 11:19:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14543583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d_v_whelan/pseuds/d_v_whelan
Summary: the she-bear of mirkwood — a legendary title and a running joke among tavern-goers.  not much is known about the men who dwelt in the misty mountains before the orcs came, those with the power to skin-change into a great bear, but there are rumors. the mercenary brynja is a descendant of those men, and gandalf has sought her out to accompany a certain band of dwarves...





	1. the prancing pony

**Author's Note:**

> title is from 'auburn and ivory' by beach house.

Wind whipped at her hair, the brown curls becoming a tangled mess, moreso than usual. She tried to hold them down with her left hand while her right hand held her cloak over her face. Her eyes were squinted, and it was difficult walking the right direction when it seemed everywhere you turned there was nothing but a blanket of rain to block your path.

Finally she reached the door of the inn and pushed it open with her foot. She released her grip on the cloak, wiping the water from her eyes so she could see clearly. Patrons eyed her suspiciously, as they did with all strangers, and she was particularly strange. Most women around Bree were scarcely five and a half feet tall, and this woman's head nearly touched the top of the doorframe. Her garb suggested an outsider, and an outsider she was. 

She sat down in the corner of the inn, at a table below a window. No light shone through, however, for it was dusk and rain clouds blocked any attempt the sun was making at giving a farewell. 

"Thank you for traveling to meet me at such a hazardous time, Brynja," the man she sat next to said in a gruff whisper. "And the weather could be quite better."

Brynja shrugged, untying her cloak from around her neck and setting it over the back of her chair. "It is spring."

"Indeed." The wizard cleared his throat. "Just a week ago I met with the one I told you of in my letter here. I'm glad you were able to break my code, and arrive here before we had left." 

It was hardly a difficult code to break; even Beorn could have done it and he could never be bothered with reading or writing. Still, although Gandalf did not expect there to be any interference, it was nice to take a little precaution.

"Enough dwindling, wizard. Why have you called upon me?" 

The letter had said little, but it did tell her to meet him there, at The Prancing Pony, on the 17th of March. She had traveled long and hard through those mountains to get there; though bears were good at that sort of thing.

Gandalf blew out smoke onto the table. "I would like you to accompany me and those dwarves on our quest. I will tell you more once I introduce you to the leader, but for now I can only ask that you make true to your promise."

Brynja had made him a promise more than ninety years before that she owed him a favor. It was such an offhand comment at the time, and she was surprised that he even remembered.

Gandalf knew of her prowess, and that was undoubtedly why he had asked her specifically, promise or no. And it was much better to call upon her than her brother, who, although they shared similar abilities, was much more temperamental. He would never have even opened the letter.

"This can't be on the same level as that promise."

"Perhaps not to you," Gandalf said. He gave a curt nod to the waitress who came to refill his cup. When she had left, he continued, "But to them this is worth everything."

"But as you've said, not me." Brynja leaned back, watching out the window. "Why should I care?"

"You shouldn't. I don't expect you to. But there is great honor in this, at least."

"Maybe so," said Brynja, who had little interest in such things, "but even if I accepted, what would the dwarves want with me?"

"I have convinced their leader that they need you already. You have knowledge of the land, and of Mirkwood, which will be one of the most perilous parts of the journey."

"Does he know about the skinchanging?"

"I have told him, yes. He has grown to accept it as a positive. But I would advise not telling the others, if you join. Dwarves are superstitious."

Brynja exhaled slowly and after a moment finally replied, "Where is this dwarf?"

Gandalf smiled ever so slightly. "Upstairs. I will take you to him momentarily. The rest of them journey from the Blue Mountains and will be here in a matter of days. We must finish our plans, and then we will continue to the Shire."

Brynja shifted in her seat, leaning her elbows against the table. "What lies there?"

"A peculiar hobbit. He will join us, if I can convince him." Gandalf laughed quietly. "That will be an adventure in and of itself. Come now, I will take you to the dwarf." He was careful not to speak the name of him here, but Brynja knew who he spoke of: Thorin Oakenshield.

The two stood, and Brynja took her cloak from the chair. She could feel the eyes of locals upon them, but paid them no mind. The wizard and the bear continued up the stairs, their footsteps drowned out by the sound of rain beating against the wooden walls of the inn.


	2. the shire

Heavy boots thumped up the path and onto the porch, coming to a stop in front of a round, green door. A portly hand reached for the doorbell, ringing it once and then waiting.

"What can I do for you, my d—" A hobbit answered the door, and he faltered, his gaze trailing upwards until finally it landed on the face of the woman who stood before him. She was certainly not a dwarf.

"I am Brynja… at your service," she said with a cock of her head in place of a bow. The hobbit stumbled stepping out of her way as she entered the home, not removing her weapons nor coat. 

The hobbit stuttered in return, shocked to see a woman standing nearly twice his height there instead of another dwarf. "Bilbo Baggins, at yours as well!" He called to her, though she had already ducked into his dining room to be with the dwarves who had come before.

 _Halflings are quite smaller than I remember_ , she thought to herself as she took a seat near the table, making no requests of her host, unlike the dwarves. She didn't have much of an appetite, and she did not want to burden the hobbit, who already seemed flustered and annoyed by the party forming in his home. Also unlike the dwarves, Brynja could rationalize that he did not want them there, nor was he expecting them.

She watched as the hobbit bustled and scampered around, placing food and drinks upon the table for the dwarves to grab greedily. Suddenly there came a knocking upon the door, and Brynja knew it must be Gandalf. She remained seated as Bilbo went to answer it. His cheeks were flushed and his forehead was beaded with sweat. Brynja scoffed under her breath, amused. Though she did pity him.

There was a sound of clamoring. Brynja could hear Bilbo and the rest of the dwarves talking in the foyer, and tuned them out to pick at the seed-cakes the hobbit had brought. They were fresh and the taste rivaled that of the kind her brother made.

When she saw the hobbit storming off into his pantries, hands balled up at his sides, Brynja decided to stand and follow him. She stood at the edge of the doorway while he muttered to himself. The dwarves in the dining room were loud enough for the whole Shire to hear.

"I can help you with that," she said gruffly as he began to stack plates in his arms. He jumped, and nearly dropped them all, but she caught his hand and took them. His face was red with a number of emotions.

"Thank you," he said. He gathered more utensils in his arms and Brynja took some other things—admittedly a lot more than he could carry—and they returned to the dining room.

Seeing the dwarves at his table, tossing food to each other and sloshing drinks all over the floor, was about enough to make the hobbit scream. He snapped his suspenders against his chest, rocking on his heels as he paced around the dwarves, many of whom were still carrying things out of his pantry.

Brynja looked on, standing in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room, her neck tilted downwards as the ceiling was just too low for her to stand up straight. She had only just met the dwarves a few weeks before. She'd always had a disdain for the folk, and she grimaced as her feelings towards them were validated. Mud was being tracked everywhere, wine and ale and all sorts of things were being spilled on the carpets, and the pantry was all but emptied.

One of the dwarves hurried through the hall, stopping in the doorway that Brynja also stood in. It was the only other woman in their little company, and in her hands was half of a pie full of red filling. Brynja wondered if the half had already been gone before she got her hands on it.

The dwarf acknowledged the woman in front of her, looking her up and down with dour green eyes. "You're Brynja, yes?"

Brynja eyed her. They had spoken only a couple times so far, and she couldn't remember her name. As far as Brynja was concerned, all the dwarves were the same. 

"Yes. And what was your name?"

"Thren," the dwarf answered after a moment's hesitation. "Why aren't you eating anything?"

It was clear that she didn't trust Brynja. Most of the dwarves seemed weary of her; after all, she was no dwarf, and Gandalf had brought her on with almost no explanation. But Thorin seemed to accept her, and that was enough for some of them. They certainly needed all the help they could get.

"Not particularly hungry. And I have some small amount of respect." Brynja didn't mean for that to offend. It was true, after all.

"Is that what you think? Well, no one is forcing you to be here. You can leave right now if you'd like!" Thren's dark brows furrowed together and she looked as if she might have pointed an accusatory finger, if her hands were not covered in pie.

Meanwhile, Bilbo was chattering away to Gandalf, rattling off his concerns and pointing frantically at all the damage the party had done. Suddenly there came a rhythmic drumming on the table, and stomping from the boots of the dwarves.

"I wouldn't say that no one is forcing me," Brynja replied, thinking of Gandalf, taking no offense at her comment. 

"Excuse me!" Bilbo called into the dining room, ducking past Brynja and Thren, interrupting their paltry conversation. "Could you please stop that? You'll blunt them!" 

Dwalin and Glóin were scraping his knives together, making music with the utensils. "You hear that, lads? He says we'll blunt them!"

They laughed bawdily, and all of the other dwarves began to join in. In the short time Brynja had spent with them, she realized that they were very fond of music. She wondered for just a moment if her people had had any songs; then a plate came sailing at her. She caught it in one hand, and then there were dishes flying everywhere. So began another one of their little songs. 

Thren's pie dropped out of her hands and landed with a _clang_ on the floor. She caught a bowl and seemed to temporarily forget the spat she'd just had.

"Blunt the knives, bend the forks!"

"Smash the bottles and burn the corks!" 

"Chip the glasses and crack the plates! That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!" All the dwarves were singing now, and Brynja was caught in the middle of their game. She tossed the plates back and forth between the dwarves. She would never admit she was having a bit of fun.

"Cut the cloth, tread on fat! Leave the bones on the bedroom mat! Pour the milk on the pantry floor, splash the wine on every door!" Of course, the dwarves were doing none of these things. Regardless, Bilbo was running underneath flying cups and dishes, panting, unsure of what to do. "Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl, pound them up with a thumping pole! When you're finished, if they are whole, send them down the hall to roll!" They paused, and for a moment only the sound of pots and pans clanging together could be heard as the dwarves all ran in one direction. They finished with a shout: "That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!"

The hobbit ran into the dining room where all the dwarves had gathered. Gandalf stood beside Brynja, laughing. The clean dishes were stacked neatly, and Bilbo sighed in relief.

The smiles on the dwarves' faces disappeared when another large knock came upon the door. All heads turned, and Gandalf moved towards the front of the home, followed by Thren. "He's here," he called over his shoulder.

"Who's here?" Bilbo asked Brynja, whom he was standing nearest to, in a hoarse whisper.

"Thorin Oakenshield," she whispered back without looking at him, keeping her eye on the door.

A noble looking dwarf stepped into the hobbit-hole. He had a smaller beard than the others, but it was trimmed neatly, and his hair was long and streaked with gray. When he spoke, his voice was deep and regal. "I lost my way here twice, Gandalf. Had it not been for that mark on the door, I'd have never found it."

Bilbo stepped forward, protesting. "Mark? There's no mark on that door, it was painted a week ago—"

"There was a mark, Mr. Baggins. I put it there." Gandalf looked at him darkly. "Allow me to introduce the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield."

Brynja watched as Thorin began to question the hobbit about weaponry and fighting. Even a fool could see that he had never touched a weapon in his life; Thorin was just testing him, making a mockery of him. From the start it was clear that he had no faith in the hobbit, and Brynja almost felt sorry for Bilbo.

Although Brynja knew little of the ways of dwarves, she knew this Thorin fellow was quite a character. He was robust and valiant, for a dwarf, and she could see clearly why they considered him their king. But dwarves were arrogant and prone to anger, and it showed in this one.

"He looks more like a grocer than a burglar," Thorin said, and the dwarves laughed at his jest. He smiled at his companions, disregarded the hobbit, and made his way down the hall.

The group followed, and Brynja came to a stop beside Bilbo, who stood in the doorway while all the dwarves sat at his table once again. No chaos ensued this time. Thorin spoke to them in a hushed tone.

"What are they talking about?" Bilbo asked her, quietly.

"Their cousins. Dwarves from the Iron Hills." She knew she shouldn't divulge too much information to him, even if this was not her journey. "They seek more help for this quest, but they will not find it." Brynja shook her head as she spoke. 

"You're going on a quest?" Bilbo said, louder this time, addressing the whole group.

They quieted and Gandalf looked up from his map. "Fetch us a little more light, won't you, Bilbo?"

He returned with a candle, and came closer then, eager to hear more about this adventure of theirs.

"There lies a solitary peak, far to the east, beyond the woodlands and the rivers." Gandalf ran a finger along the map, trailing across ranges and wastes until he stopped on a single name, written in black ink.

"The Lonely Mountain?" Bilbo asked, peering around Gandalf's arm.

One of the dwarves smacked the table with an open hand. "I've read the portents, and the portents say it is time!"

"We've got it," Brynja snapped, narrowing her eyes at the dwarf. Even the others had groaned when he started. Glóin had said this many times before. She continued in a dull tone, "When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end."

"What beast?" Bilbo said, looking up with knitted brows.

One of the younger dwarves, Fíli, chuckled. "That would be Smaug, Smaug the Terrible, airborne fire-breather, teeth like—"

"I'm sure he knows what a dragon is," Brynja cut in, tired of the dwarves' talking. Bilbo looked at her with appreciation.

"Winning back that mountain would be a feat with an army behind us. But we number only fifteen… and not fifteen of the best." Balin sighed as some of the younger dwarves began to protest.

Thorin stood, his chair scraping against the wood. Bilbo cringed. "If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them too? Rumors have begun to spread. Smaug has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look east to the mountain, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back as others claim what is rightfully ours?" He looked around, eyes falling upon each dwarf. "Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?"

"The front gate is sealed, lest you forget!" Balin barked back, interrupting the cheering now coming from around the table. "There is no way into the mountain."

"That may not be entirely true." Gandalf reached into his cloak and pulled out a large, ornate key.

"Where did you get this?" Thorin demanded.

"It was given to me by your father, Thrain. It is now yours." Gandalf pressed the key into Thorin's palm, giving him a knowing look.

"If there's a key," Kíli started.

"There must be a door." Fíli finished his brother's statement.

Gandalf nodded. "These ruins speak of another passage into the lower halls… if we can find it. Dwarf doors are invisible when closed, even to you. The answer lies hidden somewhere in this map. I cannot read it. Only certain others in Middle-earth have the skill to find it."

"It may have been a secret once, but how now? Smaug has dwelt there long enough to learn every secret of those caves," Brynja said, doubt in her voice. Dragons, though rare, were no fools.

"If he knows of it, he can't have used it. For it is too small." Gandalf recited, "Five feet tall and three may walk abreast."

Brynja nodded. That was too small even for her to walk through standing straight, and although she had never seen the beast, she knew tales of its magnificent size. The door would be but a peephole for the dragon.

Gandalf continued, "The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage." He eyed Bilbo. "But, if we are careful and clever, I believe that it can be done."

"That's why we need a burglar," Óin, another dwarf, added.

"A good one, I'd imagine," Bilbo said offhand, and then realized they meant him when they all turned to stare.

"The wild is no place for gentlefolk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves." Dwalin shook his head, looking at the hobbit.

"Well, I think I am right in thinking you believe I am no good!" Bilbo suddenly exclaimed, surprising even Brynja. "I am still quite sure you have come to the wrong house. But treat it as the right mistake. Tell me what you want done, and I will try it, if I have to walk from here to the East of the East and fight the wild Were-worms in the Last Desert." 

Brynja smirked at his unexpected burst of boldness, and at the dwarves who were watching him in awe.

Gandalf smiled, looking on at the exchange. "You asked me to find the final person for your expedition, and I chose Mr. Baggins. Dismiss him and go back to digging coal, if you'd like."

"Very well," Thorin said, though his voice still held resignations. "Show him the contract."

Balin pulled a scroll from his coat, and Bilbo took it, stepping further into the hallway. When he unfurled it, it touched the tips of his toes.

He skimmed it, muttering under his breath, and at once his eyes grew wide. "Funeral arrangements? Lacerations? Evisceration? Incineration?"

Another dwarf, Bofur, nodded matter-of-factly. "He'll melt the skin off your bones in the blink of an eye, he will. A flash of light, searing pain—"

The hobbit fainted.

It was a few moments before anyone could wake him, but Gandalf took it upon himself to carry him to his bed, bringing a cup of tea along with him. 

Brynja sat with the rest of them in Bilbo's living room. The dwarves sat in his chairs and sofas. They were too small for her so she sat on the floor, leaning against the side of the fireplace. Dwalin was tending to the fire that he had started. A warm radiance was felt throughout the hobbit-hole, but there was a cold tension hanging over them all.

"It seems we've lost our burglar, then," Brynja said. She ran her fingers along the engraved handle of her axe, wondering if the old wizard had been wrong about the little hobbit after all. She had felt a spark of hope when he stood up for himself, and wondered what the two of them were speaking about in the other room.

The old dwarf peered into the fire. "The odds were always against us. After all, what are we? Merchants, miners, tinkers, toy-makers; hardly the stuff of legend." He looked around at the company, letting his gaze linger on Brynja for a moment.

"There are warriors among you," she said, discomforted by their laments.

"Very old warriors."

Thorin shook his head, coming forward to the fire. "I would take you all over an army from the Iron Hills. For when I called upon you, you came. It is loyalty and a willing heart. And it is honor, for you came," Thorin looked at Brynja, "knowing nothing of us. I cannot ask more than that." 

Brynja nodded to him solemnly. Though it would not have been her first choice of a journey, she empathized with their desires. It was not just the gold, she supposed; it was home.

Balin rested a hand on Thorin's shoulder. "You don't have to do this. You have a choice. You've done honorably by our people. You have built us a new life for us in the Blue Mountains, a life of peace and plenty."

Thren came up beside Balin. "A life like that is worth more than all the gold in Erebor, Thorin."

Brynja shifted on the carpet uncomfortably and stood. These words had nothing to do with her. The dwarves continued talking as she left, and she walked down the halls of Bilbo's home until she found him. He was sitting alone in his bedroom. She assumed Gandalf had gone back to the dwarves.

"Have you thought it over?" She asked, gesturing to the contract sitting on his bedside table.

Bilbo shook his head. "You've got the wrong hobbit, I've decided."

"What about earlier, in the dining room?" Brynja furrowed her brows at him. "You seemed quite determined to prove yourself then." She crossed her arms over her chest. The leather armor she wore made sounds when she did.

"I, well, I quite like to think that my Took side is somewhat evident." Brynja looked at him in confusion. "My mother, I mean. But this I cannot do, if I cannot be promised a safe return."

Brynja scoffed. "Then you will never do anything more than sit here in your hobbit-hole with your kitchen and your books and your garden. None of us can be promised a safe return, and yet we are going."

"You have reason to go! Well, you are no dwarf, but _they_ have reason to go. It's their home. I have a home."

"And would you not think to help them get theirs back?"

Bilbo sighed, flustered. He stuttered as he tried to respond, but was interrupted. A somber humming came from the halls, and the two of them stopped to listen. Brynja leaned against his desk and Bilbo remained on his bed, his feet against the floor.

Thorin's voice rang out above the others'. "Far over…"

The song was dark and grave, and the hobbit felt chills down his spine. He listened carefully, thinking as he did. 

Brynja moved away from the desk and towards the door. She glanced over her shoulder at the hobbit, who was still staring into the hallway. "We are leaving at the break of day." The humming trailed away as the song ended. "Goodnight, Mr. Baggins."


	3. outskirts of hobbiton

Brynja leaned over and whispered in the horse's ear, and it began a steady trot down the path, riding alongside the dwarves atop their ponies. Hers was a massive palomino mare from the stock of Beorn. Brynja called it Freydis, and would insist if you asked—while no one ever did—that that was the name she had chosen for herself, not the other way around.

It was strange riding a horse after she had traveled with her skin changed for so long, but Brynja remembered what Gandalf said about dwarves: they were superstitious. Surely they'd call her a witch or worse. And even she could admit that being in bear form for such extended periods of time did nasty things to her mind.

There had been bets all morning about whether or not Bilbo would show up. Brynja bet that he would against Fíli, and so had Gandalf against Thren. The older dwarves seemed to have more faith in the hobbit. Thorin didn't bother making any bets. He seemed to know that the hobbit would not come.

The dwarves sang songs as they rode, but Brynja sat silently, every so often glancing behind them. At last she heard someone calling after them.

"Wait! Hold on! Stop! I've signed it!" The voice got louder as Bilbo came closer.

The party came to a halt, and Brynja turned her horse to face him. He was very close to the ground, she noticed; or perhaps she was just very far away from it. He wore a red coat with brass buttons that glinted in the sun, which shone through the new spring leaves of the short Shire trees.

Balin trotted towards him on his horse and took the contract, examining it closely. "Everything seems to be in order! Welcome to the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, Mr. Bilbo Baggins. Get him on his pony!" 

The party began moving again, and Bilbo stuttered. "Well, that won't be necessary. I've done my fair share of walking! I'll be quite alright." He smiled, pleased with himself as he started to walk at a brisk pace beside the others. 

Brynja rode up near him and grabbed the back of his pack. She hoisted him up with ease and set him on the back of the pony that was strolling beside her, waiting for its rider. The hobbit looked up at her, his jaw quivering as he tried to think of something to say. His cheeks and the tips of his ears were red.

"Trust me, you will not want to walk," she said, slightly amused.

A small bag of coin flew threw the air towards her, and she caught it. Similar bags flew in other directions and Bilbo looked back at her, confused, forgetting about the little incident from just a moment before.

"What's that?"

"They took bets on whether or not you'd come. Seems I was right." Brynja tucked the bag into her coat pocket then changed the subject. "What have you got in that bag of yours?"

Bilbo seemed a bit taken aback by the fact that people took bets on him, but he responded to her other question nevertheless. "Well, everything I need. Blankets, water, clothes—" He sneezed suddenly, quite reminding Brynja of a rabbit. He gasped. "I've forgotten my handkerchief!"

"Dwarves don't carry doilies like yours," Brynja said, offering him one of her own handkerchiefs. It was crumpled, but clean. "But you can have this."

Bilbo took it gingerly. "Thank… you." He tucked it away. "Speaking of dwarves, what is it you're doing here with them?" He shifted on the pony, looking down distastefully.

Brynja eyed him and he looked away hurriedly. "Gandalf asked me to come, same as you." She was not willing to divulge her entire life story to someone she had just met. She wasn't willing to divulge her entire life story to someone she'd known for ninety years, in fact, but it seemed that wizards knew everything either way.

"All right then," was all Bilbo said, and he turned back to his horse, sniffling and wiping his nose.

The two of them rode in silence for several more minutes. The dwarves' merriment ahead was compacted by the two of them in the back, and Thorin and Gandalf in the front. They looked like quite the party, surely. The horses varied greatly in size, from the six foot tall mare Brynja rode and the hardly over four feet pony Bilbo was on. The dwarves, singing interchangeably in Westron and Khuzdul, were having far too much fun in Brynja's opinion.

Suddenly, the clouds that had been gathering all morning decided to come together. Though the sun still shone, Brynja felt droplets of cold rain on her skin. Spring certainly was determined to make its flowers grow.

She looked down at Bilbo, nudging him with her foot. "I hope you brought a cloak." Brynja pulled the hood of hers up over her head. The dwarves ahead did the same. Gandalf had been wearing his hat the whole time.

"I've forgotten my hood as well!" Bilbo exclaimed, looking agitated as he ran a hand through his curly hair. "We must turn around. This is a disaster."

"Calm down, Mr. Baggins," Brynja barked. "You will encounter much worse than rain on this journey. But I might remind you that you have already signed the contract."

"I will die from the cold before any dragon kills me!"

Brynja shook her head and rolled her eyes, reaching into her bag and pulling out a spare cloak made of blue cloth. Her own was roughspun, but both worked equally well.

"It's massive, but it will work. Put this on." She threw it to him.

He caught it awkwardly and did what she said. "I look ridiculous," he said, sighing. 

"But are you cold?"

"I suppose not," he admitted, clutching it closer to him. "Thank you, Brynja."

She gave him a sideways glance at the use of her name. She did not hear that often. "Don't mention it." 

The rain beat down harder, and the songs stopped as the party grew miserable. Mud covered the hooves of their ponies and the water soaked their clothing, despite their cloaks and coats. The rain would continue steadily for the next two weeks.


	4. the cliff

The roads they traveled were mostly unknown to Brynja. She had journeyed north, south, and west plenty, but the lands east of the Misty Mountains were largely a mystery. It was only a few weeks before that she had first come there, and venturing through the mountains had taken nearly two weeks in itself. Alone and shaped like a bear hadn't been terrible. There were goblins crawling around at night, but it was nothing she couldn't handle. But this was a party of seventeen.

One evening particularly early on in the journey they stopped for the night under an overhang in the Weather Hills, some many miles outside of Bree. Most of the dwarves collapsed into tired heaps against the rock almost as soon as they'd unloaded the ponies, their snores echoing in the silence of the night in a matter of minutes. 

Brynja sat against one of the walls with the younger dwarves and Thren. Though they'd clashed at first, on the road it was nice to talk to someone with a little sense, and Thren seemed to be the only one who had that and wasn't also terribly pretentious. The younger dwarves, Kíli and Fíli, were not exactly the type of people Brynja would normally surround herself with, but they weren't as haughty as some of the other dwarves and were actually quite humorous.

Brynja was telling them a tale of a fight she'd had years before in Mirkwood against a pack of wargs. She exaggerated the gruesome details, but she did make sure to explain exactly how she'd gotten the long, dark scar on her right cheek. She left out the parts of how she was in the form of a bear for most of the battle.

"...They have their own language, you know. Not like the orcs, but their own awful tongue. I couldn't understand it, and I still cannot, but never have I heard a more disgusting sound." Kíli grinned lopsidedly, almost leaning forward in anticipation. Brynja didn't especially like to talk to anyone for very long, but their enthusiasm and their want to know what came next made her want to tell the story even more. "One of them seemed to be their leader, and he had a great—" Brynja was cut off by a sudden scream in the night, far off in the woods beneath them.

Bilbo, who just a minute before had come closer to hear what she had to say, jumped in fright. "What was that?"

"Orcs," Kíli said darkly, and a few more screams sounded.

"Orcs?" Bilbo repeated, looking off into the distance with an uneasy expression upon his face.

"Throat-cutters. Probably dozens of them out there. The lowlands are crawling with them," Fíli explained, eyeing his brother. Brynja rolled her eyes, because they were clearly just trying to get a rise out of the hobbit.

"They strike in the wee small hours, when everyone’s asleep. Quick and quiet; no screams, just lots of blood," Kíli added, and then the brothers looked at each other and began to laugh while a terrified Bilbo looked between them both.

Brynja turned to him. Even with her sitting and him standing, they were nearly at eye level with each other. She tried to be sympathetic. "Don't listen to them. They're just being—"

"You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?" A growling voice interjected, and they all looked up to see Thorin looming over them. 

Brynja decided she would finish her story about the wargs later, because there was undoubtedly some sort of life lesson or long winded story coming on. Dwarves seemed to be fond of talking, and for very long times, and especially about things they'd already talked about before.

Kíli's voice caught in his throat as he explained, "W-We didn't mean anything by it."

"No. You didn't. You know nothing of the world." Thorin turned away from them and went off to the edge of the cliff alone; Thren stared daggers at the two young dwarves then got up to stand beside him. 

Brynja had noticed so far that they seemed to be particularly close. At first she thought they were siblings or cousins, since everyone seemed to be related, but apparently that was not the case.

Balin, another dwarf that Brynja could see herself eventually admiring, came up to the other four with a grim smile. "Don't mind him, laddie. Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs."

Balin began explaining the long, dark tale of the defeat at Moria, just as Brynja had expected. She had heard of it, but she didn't know the details, and in fact there seemed to be some blur between fact and myth when it came to dwarves. But the story seemed to ring true, and Balin told it with some sort of grim exuberance that made Brynja glance over at Thorin more than once. There was more to him than met the eye, it seemed. 

By the time Balin had finished, everyone in the party was listening, and then they all turned their eyes to Thorin, who stood majestically on the highest point of the cliff, overlooking the valley below. No doubt they'd all heard that story countless times, but Brynja and Bilbo had not, and the hobbit was in awe. Brynja almost admired the way the dwarves put so much trust and esteem in Thorin. She decided that she would have to start talking to him more often on this journey; surely she would get a new sense of purpose, or at least reasoning, in helping them.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to follow me @castaelia on tumblr!


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